


Fragment

by PASIV_Dreamscape



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Original Character Death(s), Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PASIV_Dreamscape/pseuds/PASIV_Dreamscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the day he decided to lead a life outside the law, Izaya had known the dangers that would entail, was aware of the dark, horrible matters he'd witness and be a part of, knew that Shizuo was no longer the only threat. And yet, a twisted 'gift' makes it too raw. Izaya knows that he really might die now, and he probably deserves it. </p><p>(Plenty of angst, torture, hurt and comfort, slowing breaking Izaya)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragment

 _

* * *

  
"Life is never fair, and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not."

* * *

_

It wasn't unusual, in his line of work, to find something macabre nearby from time to time. As an informant, getting your shoes wet wasn't an unexpected displeasure. His hands, he mused, were clean at the very least. His tongue was the most polished of silvers, palms seemingly ritualistically sanitary, but his shoes were often scuffed and splattered with the messes he would often waltz into, in search of some information he could mentally store and share for profit.

However, it was unusual that the dark dance would lead to one of his places of sanctuary, this one being the epitome of them all.

A rather high end condominium located in Shinjuku, paid in full, overlooking the city with large floor to ceiling windows that, at times, faced his back as he chattered away in messenger rooms or scoured emails like meals.

This was how it, -what he was now staring at-, happened.

* * *

The day was rather productive, but Izaya didn't mind. He enjoyed the days he spent outside the most, despite the size of his living space.

You see, in Japan, especially within the cities, living spaces are rather small, compressed, to the point that it feels as if though you're suffocating. The only ones who truly lived in large spaces were either successful, celebrities, or working with the mafia one way or the other- which wasn't unusual. You could walk down the streets of Tokyo, and every shop with much activity is most likely paying the mafia to, ironically, keep the mafia out, by protecting them from those in, you guessed it, the mafia.

So not only did those, like the Yakuza, hold a lot of power, but they also made a lot of money.

This was why Izaya was able to live in such a large space that others wouldn't mind spending an entire day within. However, because that wasn't the case for most citizens of Tokyo city, they would spend the day among others, wandering the streets until they got tired.

Izaya favored this mantra, and would often take the streets when he needed to. Otherwise, he would face situations that could endanger him, or just annoy him.

So when he got home after a long successful day of work, avoiding all the usual patrons and monsters that walked the streets till dark, he wasn't all that surprised that his condo was dark, or that Namie wasn't there waiting for him while pretending to work.

She would often sit in his chair, despite his many attempts to intimidate her to keep off it. Sometimes she would just lounge on one of his long leather sofas, not caring how utterly shameful and lazy she looked.

However, no matter how ungrateful or grinding her presence was at times, she was reliable.

Things like coffee or tea would be ready and served or waiting, most likely from keeping watch of the cameras or by gazing out the windows, waiting to spot Izaya approaching. She did also cook, but it was usually for herself.  
It didn't matter how many times Izaya told her not to bother, she would still make servings enough for 3 people, 1.5 servings each if needed. When he would playfully lecture her and remind her that he would surely get some of Simon's curious sushi if he was out for too long, she would bark back with how unhealthy it was to eat sushi everyday, and it was. So to keep himself from gaining weight, and in order to maintain a healthy figure, he would eat well portioned and thoughtful meals prepared by Namie, cooked up with her own figure in mind.

None of that greeted him the moment he walked in before midnight on this particular day. Instead it was dark and rather chilly.

Ignoring the tightness in his stomach from hunger, approaching the kitchens island counter, he sighed and set down the take-out sushi Simon had pre-prepared for him, handing it to Izaya the moment he walked by the Russian shop. It wasn't on the house, but Izaya guessed that business was rather slow, so he just thanked Simon, took the bag while paying, and continued on with his day.  
  
He doubted that Namie knew of this encounter. Either way he didn't truly mind if she just didn't prepare anything either.  
  
Reeling back to this living situation, despite much curiosity and no straight forward answer, Izaya and Namie were not a couple. There were times that he did consider her a 'house-wife' of sorts, and she was always there, but they didn't have an intimate relationship. He did question whether either would take advantage of the proximity of their constant being near each other daily, but she didn't seem interested in him, and he never cared to explore such sexual desires with her, or anyone. That was at least mutual. While she loved her brother at a disgustingly odd level of romance, he loved 99% of the human race, and couldn't care to pluck one from the crowd and share himself with them.

Tossing the keys on the counter, he walked towards the thermostat, noticing that it was off. Muttering a few curse words under his breath, he turned it back on and rubbed at his arms, cold despite the additional layer of his trademark hoodie.

Everything was off, not even his desktop computer was left on. He had wondered if the electricity had gone out, but he knew bills had been paid and the buildings power was working. There was the small whisper of a suspicious nag, but nothing seemed out of place, and there would be no purpose to try to catch him off guard in such a childish way.  
So he surmised that Namie had left, and made sure that nothing was left on, which, despite the woman's grotesque character, wasn't entirely out of question.

He walked towards the glass office table by the window, bending over lightly to pull out his laptop from a hidden sliding plate, originally meant for the desktop computers keyboard. It was cold to the touch from many hours of the condo not having the heater on. Sitting it onto the center of his desk, he opened it up and turned it on, leaving it to patiently power itself into preparation as he walked towards the kitchen counter to remove the styrofoam box from within the plastic bag.

First he would eat, then he would play.

It was yet midnight, so he had about 2 hours left to eat then wash up and get ready for bed, or rather, chat away on the net until he called in for the night.

Ignoring traditions, he walked towards the fridge and took out a cold bottle of water, decidedly unwilling to prepare tea or coffee. Setting the bottle by the foam box he, took a seat onto one of the tall bar stools, situated against the island counter, and began to prepare his meal.

As expected, the usual, with a few packets of soy sauce, wasabi paste and some ginger ale slices. Taking out the chopsticks from the bag and removing them from their paper slide, he pulled them out then apart.

"Thank you for the meal." He muttered with a small smirk of excitement. Pouring some of the sauce along the side corner of the box, he grabbed and dunked a piece of ootori sushi into the liquid before placing the entirety of it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Oh, did he love the texture and taste of well prepared ootori sushi. Some people hated the thick slice of Tuna, and some pretended to like it because of its price tag among other choices. But Izaya truly enjoyed it. What reminded others of a tongue, it reminded Izaya of the creature that was killed for this very moment.

It took more than half an hour to eat only a few pieces with a side of rice, and he enjoyed it despite it being rather cold by the time he had gotten home. He was hungry, he didn't mind, and it served its purpose by filling him up.  
  
Guessing that his laptop was warm enough for use, and feeling that the condo was cozy enough Izaya decided, after washing his hands, to take a quick warm shower to rid of the city's fumes.

Humming a nameless tune, Izaya made his way to his washroom, which was rather spacious, traditional, yet with modern design and a dash of western. There was a body sized tub, a shower room that was the modern western version of the traditional Japanese form of washing off before stepping into the bath. A sink that looked more European than Asian in design, with a large oval mirror nailed to the wall over it. The toilet seemed western, but was still Japanese manufactured with its high-end tech features.

The tiles were a marble black with faded white and light gray veins, the walls were a mix of typical white plastered material, black tiles, and glossy white marble.

Yes, Izaya liked his classy expensive bathroom very much, despite it being the least featured room, or used for that matter. The only people who used it daily were either Izaya, or Namie when she stayed in too late. He didn't mind, she cleaned up afterwards, knowing her boss would have a moment if he found her long hair in the clog.

Beginning to undress at the door before entering, he grabbed the knob and pushed the door open just as he halfway managed to remove his black v-neck long-sleeve, hoodie already forgotten at his feet. The lights automatically switched on and-

And he nearly slammed the door shut.

Izaya was used the macabre, you see.  
Gore wasn't unusual in his line of work, despite his clean hands.  
  
The only moments in which he himself would have blood on him or spilled by him was mostly whenever he would encounter that idiot brute, Shizuo.

He let his shirt slide back into place as one hand held the knob, the other covering his mouth, as his wide eyes stared at nothing, facing towards the ground.

This wasn't right, something was definitely wrong, and yet before he could worry more than he should, somewhere in the back of his muddled mind whispered his subconscious- _this was why the thermostat was off_.

Collecting himself, because what else could he really do, he straightened up and looked towards the frame of the door with determination. He wasn't afraid, but caught off guard. There was no room for fear, and this situation didn't call for such sensations.

Gripping the knob, he turned it and slowly pushed the door open, the lights turning back on to greet him, and display the state of the bathroom.

The smell was something he noticed first and definitely could not miss.

It slapped him in the face, and seemed to soak into his skin, the moment he opened the door wide enough to stand before the room with his full attention.

What followed was the main display, but still he focused the mess surrounding it.

Blood, everywhere, splattered in a way that was staged rather than genuine. He was no blood-analyst by profession, but Izaya knew how instrument and angles worked- familiar with the way a hammer splattered blood from certain trajectories and force.

No, this was meant to look like more than it was.

He could tell that whoever did this didn't commit the crime in the bathroom.

Izaya could, immediately, tell that the criminal dealt the deal somewhere else, drained into buckets, splashed the red upon the walls and floor, brought the display into the bathroom, propped _it_ into a dramatic position, turned the heater off, and left without leaving any sign of foul play.

Before he registered what he was staring at, he began to wonder how he was going to get rid of this. Should he call the authorities? Should he call Shiki? Should he call Shinra, Celty, Simon, Tom? Even the idea of contacting Kadota and his friend's van, full of eccentrics, was a good one. There was no way whoever staged this left any evidence, and everyone knew of his blackmail. They would assume he did this right away.

Who could he call?  
He tried to calm himself, think straight, breathe.

Sitting on the floor outside of the bathroom, he reached over and pulled out his phone from its pocket, then immediately scrolled through his contacts, looking for Shiki's number.

After a few short rings, a rather gruff, uninterested, voice answered. "[ _Hello? Orihara, do you have something for me?_ ]"

It took a moment for Izaya to realize Shiki was repeating himself, impatient yet calm.

The informant responded. "I…" He paused while he stood up and rested his free hand along the door frame near the hinges, tilting his head as he stared, unable to look away. "I need a favor. Can you meet me at my place? We need to talk in… Private."

A silence of uncertainty followed. Asking a Mafia boss to come to you was rather disrespectful, but Shiki had his moments of not minding, especially if some important information was available. "[ _I'll be there in 10 minutes._ ]"

There was no bidding exchange, only the tone indicating that Shiki had hung up.

Izaya allowed the phone to rest against his ear for a few more seconds before pulling it away and staring at its screen, pressing the end call button.

With a sigh, he looked back up and stared.

It stared back.

No, for the sake of familiarity and distanced respect, She.

She stared back.

She managed to look more human now in this instant that ever before.

Izaya was only witness to that expression whenever she seemed trapped or desperate. It wasn't often, and yet at this very moment, it seemed more real than ever before.

Those dim dark eyes, wide, capturing the very moment of final fear that coursed through her mind the very second she realized her fate. Her lips were parted in mid-scream. Her long hair was cut, now at shoulder-length.

He almost disregarded the naked body in the tub, positioned as if lounging , one arm and half the leg below the knee, hanging out over the porcelain rim.

Izaya pocketed his phone, staring into her frightened eyes. Crossing his arms against his chest, he leaned his shoulder onto the door frame and sighed.

Perhaps this was irony, or a joke. Now Izaya wondered how many people knew of what he hid from the desperate Dullahan.

Someone was out to get him. This was a warning, no doubt. The message was very clear…

He was in danger… More than usually so…

Before the silence continued for much longer, he stood upright, gently pushing away from the doors frame. Remembering the time and visitor he looked down the hall. "Better go prepare some tea." He muttered to himself as he turned away from Namie's dismembered head, set perfectly at the center of the bathroom, and beheaded body, seemingly enjoying a warm bath in her own blood.

 

* * *

_

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- Ugh, I dunno why I dragged out that murder scene. Maybe for suspense? I dunno. I know you readers got the gist pretty quickly. I guess I always need to be too detailed for my own good- even though I did try to be less… wordy.
> 
> Anyways, wtf is this, right? Is it horror, suspense, AU, general, et cetera.
> 
> Tell me what you think? Reviews are always my trigger.
> 
> It just kind of started with me imagining Namie being found dead in Izaya's condo as a sort of warning. I don't particularly hate her, despite her unsettling desires and arse like attitude. I actually kind of like her. But I had to kill her off since, even if you don't care to acknowledge it, her dead would impact Izaya in some small way. She pretty much lives with him. But notice I swerved off that romantic curve- there is nothing there, obviously.
> 
> Where is this going? Well, I'm an angst junkie. I'm a sadist, not in the sexual sense, but I do enjoy a lot of angst inflicted onto my favourite characters. And there's going to be plenty of that. Enough for me to someday re-read this once it's long forgotten and get all excited.
> 
> It's not so much a mystery, since there won't be a web-like investigation going on. Just Izaya, in deadly trouble, 'more than usually so'.
> 
> The reason I went into so much detail on some nonsense, however, was to give the first chapter some life and idea of his surroundings. I hope it wasn't too much and helped with some emotional or physical sensations.
> 
> Yes the starting quote is by Oscar Wilde. All quotes will be from him. While I'm sure Izaya's character would have an expansive taste in literature, his favourite quote is by Wilde, so rather than scour for a relating quote, I'll use Wilde.
> 
> Tell me what you think? Reviews are always my trigger.


End file.
